If you’ve been underground on the green line you know this sound. Shrill and squealing-screaming and hooting like some sort of wind instrument. The sound the train makes turning down the tunnel. I want to write it into a creature’s throat. Uninterrupted by the trains squealing-hooting torsion pages turn, words are spoken, texts are sent. Give it time and that sound becomes a flare of sunlight in your eyes–noticeable, mildly aggravating, and normal.
Rhiannon Rainey, 24 Years old,